Shattered
by A Petal on the Rose
Summary: After losing her memory, Belle attempts to pick up the pieces of her broken heart and shattered life.
1. Dreams Aren't Real

_Dreams aren't real. Dreams aren't real. Dreams aren't real._

She whispered the words over and over into the quiet of the night. There was no clock in the room, but she knew it was late because of the subdued silence emanating from the nurses' station. Visitor's hours had ended long ago and with it the hushed whispers and muted laughter of families passing through the linoleum halls. Once the graveyard shift began, the lively banter subsided as patients, like her, attempted to sleep despite the residual glare of the fluorescent lighting.

Of course, something was wrong. She didn't need a doctor to tell her that. Normal people know who they are. She didn't even know her own name although everybody else seemed to. They had a name for her, but it didn't feel like hers. Some people acted as if they had known her for years, but they felt like total strangers. They assumed too much. They spoke too much. They _felt_ too much. Their affection unsettled her, especially when she could assume nothing, answer nothing, and feel nothing in return.

She was confused. She just wanted to go home and lie in her bed. Did she have a bed? If she couldn't remember her home, how would she ever feel the peace of being there? Even though it might belong to her, she was doomed to spend every night in what would ultimately be a stranger's bed. Nothing was familiar, which made everything bewildering.

Sleep offered little reprieve. She was haunted by visions of twisted landscapes populated with warped men. What did the dreams mean? More importantly, what did they mean about her? The dreams were often grotesque and violent. The nightmares did not frighten her; however, the way they made her feel did. She wondered what kind of person would feel the way she felt about such appalling images.

_Dreams aren't real. Dreams aren't real. Dreams aren't real._

Repeating her mantra, she settled under the cloud of fatigue and sedatives. She hoped the words would stay with her as the visions flooded her mind. Maybe if she could hold onto that truth, then she could shake herself free from the cage of her subconscious mind. She closed her eyes and stepped out of the waking world.

_No_, she thought as the dreams began. _Not again_, _please_.

She tried to stir herself awake, but failed. She attempted to control the images which surrounded her, but she was powerless. In anguish, she submitted, knowing the only way out was to forge ahead.

A red sky above. An ashen wasteland below. The clouds were red, but not like proper clouds. They were more like smoke—the smoke from a large fire. She looked on them with alarm. Beneath the sky was a ruined field, littered with broken debris surrounding a hundred trenches. In the distance she could hear the screams of dying men. Mixed in with the moans were the animalistic, guttural roars of some unseen monster. She felt the cobbled stones of the castle tower where she stood shake under her feet. Whatever was out there was enormous, unstoppable, and coming for her. The blood in her veins felt like ice as the hopelessness of the future crashed over her. She clutched a book to her chest as if it were life itself and bowed her head in despair. Her tears fell onto a golden gown.

The bright yellow hue of her dress was replaced with a new shade of gold, one she had never seen before. The crisp satin cloth was replaced with thousands upon thousands of tiny, dry, metallic, golden scales. In the shadows, the gold seemed to shine through a thin overlay of olive-green. It was the precise shade of greed—a mixture of gold and envy. She realized she was no longer looking at her dress but at the face of a man whose skin appeared as abrasive as his character.

The man, if he could be called a man, smirked at her. He folded his hands in front of his chest, as if inspecting a newly purchased painting. He threw his head back and laughed with glee, his fierce eyes flashing haughtily. Although he spoke to her, she could not hear his words, only silence.

His compact frame towered over hers as his thin lips pulled back to reveal the sharp points of his teeth, covered with rot and decay. A Dark Lord of great power, all men shook with fear at his presence. She could feel the blackness emanating from his heart. It cleaved hers in two.

Glinting triumphantly, his over-large eyes only added to his manic appearance. The irises, though strangely colored, were brilliant and dynamic. She thought of the tiger's eye stone, its amber crystals flecked with streaks of black. However, those eyes forever appeared to change color. At times they were hazel, at others, brown, and now the color of honey. At last, she watched them become black as coals.

His countenance fell, the mirth behind those midnight eyes dissipating. He hung his head and stared at his golden hands, examining ridges of his black fingernails. His shoulders rounded; he was quiet now, his breath shallow and shaky. She sat next to him on some sort of a wooden bench in front of a fire in a large room. The impossibly high walls were covered with ornate tapestries. Everywhere she looked some kind of treasure was on display. The room was old, opulent, and kingly. She was in a castle. He was mumbling something, but once again she could not hear his words. Suddenly, he turned his head to look at her. She sucked in a deep breath; his eyes were clear and calm. These were the eyes of a man.

Her pulse quickened. She took his hand in hers. Her heart swelled at the sheen of tears in his eyes. The tension in his face fell away, replaced by eager anticipation, drawing close to her. As their lips met, she felt a rush of wind about her, fusing their souls together as one. In that oneness she felt a joy, complete as she had never felt before. That love stretched through the ages, although only a moment passed.

Abruptly, he flung himself away from her. His face contorted, twisting into an evil mask. He waved his arms wildly, dancing in scorn. He rushed towards her, his ghastly visage filling her field of vision. He screamed at her in uninhibited rage. The heat of his breath, which was not foul as she expected, warmed her cheeks. She shied away from him, but not out of fear, for she felt none. She longed to reach out and take him into her arms, to soothe his tempest with her embrace. However, she understood that her tender touch would only push him away, rather than gather him in. For this she grieved as he tossed her into an empty, barren room save for a straw mattress.

She lay down and waited on the bed. Tangled in the sheets, she tossed and turned until they wrapped about her, and her hair hung loose about her face. The room had changed. Now, it was more like a bedroom than a cell. She unraveled herself from the smooth cotton sheets and wandered through the wooden hallway of the modern house. A staircase led her downstairs. Many of the same treasures which had once decorated the castle had found new homes mounted on walls or settled on the mantle.

A man stood in the kitchen, his face punctuated with sharp, pointed features. His small, dark brown eyes were cold and focused. Layers of straight brown hair rested against his cheekbones and jaw. But, when he turned to her, his features softened and warmed. She recognized him as the man from the accident—the one who had touched her arm, healing her injuries. Glancing down at the bare skin on her left arm, she gasped. There were no scars.

He held out his arm, and she sleepily stepped into his embrace. Through her nightgown she felt the layers of his clothing—as many layers as had barricaded the heart of the golden beast. But now she could slip her hand beneath his overcoat and jacket, tucking her hand just under the lapel of his vest. There she could feel the beat of his heart and the warmth of his chest. He kissed her forehead and smiled. She glowed from inside and watched his silent lips speaking to her. He whispered five words over and over as he began to kiss her cheeks, her lips, and her neck. She desperately wanted to hear those words. But, as she could not hear them, she had to trust the way she felt in the heat of his arms.

Now, he held his black cane high in the air and brought it down mercilessly on a body already broken and bloodied. His eyes blazed in fury, and he ground his teeth with a snarl. She sucked in a breath. It was the same mask, only stripped of its gilded coating. The demon and her lover were one and the same; she loved them both.

She started awake, as always, in a cold sweat. Her breath coming in ragged gasps. Fear was not part of her dream. How could she fear that which she loved? But it was this love which wrought fear as cold as iron in the pit of her stomach. No matter the color of his skin, just under the surface of his composed façade lurked the heart of violent, wild, and cruel spirit. She shuddered. Only a depraved heart could love a fiendish soul.

_Dreams aren't real. Dreams aren't real. Dreams aren't real._

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**A/N: **Thanks for choosing to read "Shattered." Please, feel free to post your comments, questions, and reviews. I welcome any and all feedback! :-)


	2. Believe

She lay awake late into the night, trying to sort out the mess in her head. It was an impossible task. Her thoughts circled each other in endless loops like two serpents, each consuming the tail of the other. Outside the walls of her hospital room, reality was distorted. As she considered the events of the past few days—or were they years?—she knew the real world to be as fragmented as her dreams. Sometimes, it felt as if time stopped altogether. At others, the gaps folded in on themselves and time skipped ahead carrying her along with it. Beyond these fractured memories was an infinite grey wall, separating her from her past.

There had to be one memory she could latch onto. She was certain if she could just focus on a single fixed point in her life, the sequence of everything else would fall into the proper order. But there was nothing. She couldn't even remember the accident which had stolen her memories. It was as if she had been hollowed out by a woodcarver, and nothing had been put back in. She was missing something…everything. As far as she could tell, she had always been this way.

How long had she sat alone in that padded cell before the door had been opened by the handsome young man with the unsettled fervor in his blue eyes? Finally released, though it hardly felt like freedom, she had followed his directions and found the small pawn shop he had described. The man, Mr. Gold, was inside. His eyes filled at first with disbelief, then joy, and at last tears as she had told him what little she could. She remembered walking behind him in the afternoon woods before falling onto hard, black asphalt, slick with the evening rain. Intense pain licked the nerves of her left arm. He looked around and touched her, healing the damage done to her body. He erased the stinging ache, but she was not altogether certain he was not the cause of it in the first place. Was this real or just another dream?

She knew the man existed, because he had visited her in the hospital once. His kiss had interrupted one of her nightmares; her subsequent screams had driven him from the room in tears. The man was real, as was his affection. Now, she questioned whether her dreams were, at least in part, repressed memories. Of course, castles and monsters were just fantasy. But the heart of a beast could be concealed within even the best-dressed man. Although she felt nothing for him now, she loved him in her dreams. Did that mean she was evil? No, she felt certain she was not. Maybe she had been, once. The thought frightened her.

Soft footsteps echoed just outside her door. Visiting hours were over, so she assumed it was a nurse beginning patient rounds. However, the footsteps were odd, punctuated with a metallic click. Quick-slow. Quick-slow. Quick-slow. Someone opened the door casually as if confident she was awake. It was the man she had seen in her dreams, the man who wept at the sight of her, the man who, if she believed all of it, was part magic and part demon. She pushed the idea from her mind, repeating her mantra. Still, she sat upright in bed and followed his every movement with her eyes.

He walked over to the side of her bed, saying, "It's late, I know. But it couldn't wait till morning." He pulled a small porcelain cup out of his jacket pocket. "I have something for you," he said as he held it out to her. "I know you don't remember, but just indulge me. Please."

She furrowed her brow and took the cup. She wasn't sure she wanted him here. His presence unnerved her. Even now, the urgency in his eyes bespoke of the volatility of his nature. Would she meet the beast in him tonight? She turned the cup over in her hands roughly, nervously.

"Be careful with it," he urged.

She looked at him and said, "It's a…it's a cup."

He nodded eagerly, thinking she understood. "Yeah," he murmured.

There was nothing remarkable about it. It was utterly forgettable save for the little chip on the rim. Who would want a broken piece of china? There was something significant he wanted her to remember about it, but how could she? Why was it important?

"It's damaged," she tried.

He was not satisfied with her answer. He commanded in a rough whisper, "Just, look at it. Focus." His grip tightened on the brass handle of his cane.

She cast her eyes down and tried to concentrate, but he interrupted her. "It's your talisman," he said.

She looked up incredulously. Why did he want her to believe? If magic was real, then it meant she was a monster and so was he. What joy could he derive from that?

"It's a cup," she stated with more confidence. _Just a cup_, she told herself, trying to clear away the hazy mist blurring fantasy and reality.

"You dropped it in my castle," he confessed. "You were afraid that you had angered me," he continued with a smile. It was a pleasant memory, but it was his, not hers.

However, a dark cloud passed over her face as he mentioned the castle. When she first arrived at the hospital, she raved about the man who had touched her arm and healed her with magic. The nurses had exchanged worried glances then told her repeatedly there was no such thing before injecting her with enough drugs to knock her out for hours. For that reason, she had not spoken of her dreams. How did he know about the castle, unless it existed? If it was real, if someone else had seen it, then everything in her dreams was real. She looked at the cup and wondered what else had crossed over from that world. Her alarm rose exponentially. No matter who he was, he was dangerous.

She shook her head violently, "Okay, here. You… You need to go, and take your cup, okay?"

He immediately declined, pressing the cup back into her hands. Desperation was taking control of him, cracking his composed veneer, threatening to unleash whatever he kept hidden within. "No, no, no, no. I charmed it. If you focus it will work. It's _magic_."He wasn't listening to her.

"Okay, just go away!" she cried.

Why did he need it to be real? Did he think they could run off and live together in whatever Hell he was the master of?

"Stop talking about magic and take your cup!" She pushed the china back into his hands, but he refused to take it.

"Just look at it!" he urged.

Overcome by frustration, she flung the delicate white cup against the far wall of her room. It shattered into at least a dozen pieces with a satisfying crash. She looked up and watched his face fall as he counted every shard. His mouth hung open, and his lip quivered. She had broken more than just his cup. She had destroyed his spirit. Would she suffer the monster's wrath?

"Just go," she pleaded. "Just go away." She began to weep.

His mouth stretched into a sad smile. If there was evil inside him, it did not show itself behind the tears welling in his eyes. He nodded.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

With some effort, he stepped away from her bedside. As he passed by, he briefly paused to take one last look at the ruined shards before stepping through the door, forgetting to shut it behind him.

She let the tears wash down her cheeks as she stared at the broken bits of china. She tried to make sense of it all. She made a list of what was real and what was a dream. It was too complicated. In the end, she decided she knew just two things for certain: She had forgotten everything and this man desperately wanted her to remember.

So, perhaps they shared the same dream. She breathed out with a harsh little laugh. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and slipped out of her hospital bed. Her legs were weak and shaky, so she held onto the bed for support. Her pale yellow hospital gown was thin and offered little warmth. She shivered; however, she sat down on the tiles and one by one examined the pieces of the cup. The fragments fit in her cupped hands. If magic could cure her, then maybe she needed to believe more than she wanted to admit. She focused on the shards, but nothing happened. Whatever charm had been cast was broken, but maybe it could be mended. Setting the lot down, she made a neat little pile on the floor. In the process, however, she accidentally sliced her index finger.

Although the cut was minimal, she cried out in pain. A nurse, who had been walking by, stuck her head in the room and gasped when she saw her patient sprawled on the floor surrounded by sharp edges. Her stern features hardened, and she pressed her lips in a thin line as she marched in. A nametag pinned to her crisp white uniform read "Mildred." The nurse grabbed the girl's arm forcefully and pulled her up onto her feet.

Nurse Mildred's voice dripped with honey as she chided, "Now, really dear, what you were thinking getting out of bed like that?"

"I wanted the cup," she said, pointing at the mess on the floor.

"I'll have one of the orderlies bring you something to drink. You get into bed." The nurse pushed her back down against the pillows firmly. When she tried to sit up, the nurse held her down with one hand. Mildred was stronger than she appeared. The nurse frowned and pressed the call button.

Through the static, a voice called, "Can I help you, Miss French?" She wondered if _French_ was the nurse's last name.

The nurse pursed her lips and cast a disapproving glance at her patient. "Jill, this is Mildred. Can I get a janitor in Room 201?" She glared at the girl, "We've had an accident."

"I'll send him up," the voice crackled through the static.

Mildred inspected the cut. She shook her head and clucked her tongue.

"Mmhmm, see what you've done to yourself? You're lucky you don't need stitches."

The nurse pulled out a simple first aid kit from one of the medical drawers. She roughly disinfected the wound, slathered on some antibacterial ointment, and wrapped it tightly with a bandage. When she was finished she picked a piece of fuzz off her pristine white scrubs.

The janitor, a big fellow with long black hair and a deep tan complexion, pushed his cleaning cart into the room. Nurse Mildred gave him a few curt directions and pointed in the direction of the broken china. His morose, expressionless face did not react to her abruptness. Although he did not speak, his black eyes took in everything as he bent down to clear the mess.

The girl sat up in the hospital bed and cried, "No, please! Could I just have the cup back?"

Nurse Mildred shook her head, "I'm afraid that's out of the question. We wouldn't want to see you hurt yourself again." Her voice was commanding and free of any kind of concern for the girl's well-being.

The girl panicked as she watched the janitor, as tall as he was broad, silently sweep up the pieces. She began to gesture wildly and tried to get out of the bed to stop him. She cried frantically, "I know it's broken, but it was an accident, and I didn't mean it. I just want it back for a few minutes. I think I can fix it. Please, can I just try?"

The nurse pressed the call button again and asked for immediate assistance. Two orderlies, strong men, rushed into the room and held her arms and legs as Nurse Mildred strapped her down.

"I don't understand," she called. "It's just a cup. Can't I have it back? I can fix it. I know I can!"

Mildred narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. She shook her head, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to inform Dr. Whale of your behavior tonight. He won't be pleased to discover that you tried to injure yourself. So, no, you cannot have the cup."

She looked at Mildred's frowning face and said, "Injure myself? I mean, I did, but not on purpose. I just want the cup back, please. It's going to help me remember." She looked into the eyes of the somber janitor whose towering frame lingered in the doorway. His dustpan was full of her shattered hope. "Please," she begged.

He broke her gaze, turned, and dumped the lot into a black garbage bag. He pushed the cart out of the room without a sound. She leaned back against the pillow. Nurse Mildred stuck something in her arm and suddenly she felt woozy.

"I just want to remember," she mumbled as the sedative began to take effect.

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**A/N: **What do you think so far? Please, review!


	3. A Charm

Two halves of the same man spoke to her as she slept. For the first time, she could hear and understand the words they spoke: _The power of a name._ They whispered the phrase over and over again, until it was written on her heart. The words were useless. She had no name; she had no power.

The sedatives began to wear off. Slowly, she floated up through the lower levels of consciousness, rising to the surface. She felt the firm support of the mattress beneath her and the cool linen sheet which covered her body. The rough leather straps pressed down on her limbs. She was still in the restraints fastened by Nurse Mildred.

There was a gentle knock at the door. She tensed, ill-prepared for another encounter with the demonstrative Gold. Perhaps, if she didn't answer, he would just leave her alone. Unfortunately, nobody respected her privacy; the door opened slowly. The tall, dark form of the janitor quickly slipped in and shut the door. He approached the bed cautiously. Despite the heaviness of his steel-toed boots, his steps made no sound on the floor. He held out a pillow in front of him with both his hands.

Thinking he had come to end her torment, she closed her eyes and braced herself. She waited but felt nothing against her face. Instead, her body shook with the bed as the janitor tugged at the tight straps. She opened her eyes. The janitor met her gaze then nodded toward the pillow. As soon as her hands were free, she picked it up. To her surprise, she heard the soft clinking of china against china. She peered in at the open end of the pillow case. The seam of the pillow itself had been opened at one end. Stuffed inside, amidst the fiber filling, was a small plastic bag containing the remnants of the broken cup.

"Thank you!" she beamed.

Why was the cup so important all of a sudden? It should have meant nothing. The janitor pointed towards the bag, as if wanting her to look in deeper. She did and pulled out a small tube of adhesive. She smiled again. "Perfect."

She started at his voice when he spoke. Deep and rich, it rumbled within his chest. "My shift ends in an hour." With a parting glance, and a smile from her, he turned to go.

She called out to him, "Do _you_ know who I am?"

He stopped, turned to face her and shook his head. "No, we're not from the same place."

She wasn't sure she knew what he meant. "Is it better here?"

"In some ways."

"Why are you helping me?"

A hint of a smile playing at the edge of his mouth, he answered, "To irritate Nurse Mildred." With that, he closed the door behind him.

She set to work immediately. If Nurse Mildred caught her playing with a bag of broken china, she was sure to be sedated for the rest of her natural life. Uncapping the tube of adhesive, she tried to carefully reassemble the teacup by matching up the colors of the design. Here was a blue flourish of paint, there a bit of the gilded embellishment on the handle. Unfortunately, there were dozens of tiny white slivers which seemed to fit together in myriad ways. She wondered if the enchantment would even work once it was glued back together—if it ever existed in the first place.

It seemed like only a few moments had passed when the janitor quietly stepped back into her room. Without a word, he collected the remaining shards and put them in the pillowcase along with the glue. He gingerly set the cup in a hidden corner of her bedside table drawer. He looked at her apologetically and gestured towards the restraints.

She nodded and positioned her arms in the holsters, surprised at how tenderly his large hands tightened the leather belts. "Of course," she answered his silence. "You're right. I understand."

She was grateful that he tightened them as gently as he could. He tucked the pillow beside her so that she could lean against it without crushing the fragile innards. She settled down, bracing herself for the unsettling dreams to come.

When she awoke a man in a white coat was seated beside her bed taking notes. "Good morning," he said, addressing the clipboard in his hands, instead of her. His blue eyes and blonde hair gave him a boyish and unassuming air. However, he was all business. He added, "I'm Doctor Whale.

"Good morning," she replied. She pulled at the straps which kept her arm fastened to the railing of her hospital bed. "Are these necessary?"

He frowned slightly and chewed on the tip of his pen. "You tell me. Nurse Mildred said there was an incident last night. Do you want to talk about it?"

She thought about the "incident." Yes, she wanted to talk about it, she thought angrily. She wanted to tell him how the severe woman had forced her into bed, strapped her down, and sedated her. She had been treated like a criminal. However, something told her to downplay the episode.

"It was nothing. An accident. I had a cup. It fell off a table and broke. I was trying to clean up the mess, and I cut my finger." She held up the bandaged digit for him to see. "The nurse came in and fixed me up, good as new."

The doctor furrowed his brow. "So, you didn't _want_ to hurt yourself?"

She opened her eyes wide, "No!" Thinking she needed to remain calm and sane she said more calmly, "No."

He seemed convinced, but only just. "Okay," he nodded. "How's the memory?"

"Still missing," she admitted truthfully.

He ticked a small box on his paper. "Any nausea, dizziness, or headache?"

"No, no, and no," she replied. She wanted to answer correctly. It was their unspoken agreement: give all the right responses, and you get to leave.

"How are you sleeping? Any bad dreams?"

"No," she answered. In that moment, she learned something about herself: She was a terrible liar.

The doctor raised an eyebrow, "You're sure?"

She nodded and looked down at her hands. He scribbled something down this time. She sighed deeply. "Is there something wrong with me?"

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"Why am I here?"

"You've lost your memory. You've had an accident."

"Yes, I know. You keep telling me. But I'm not hurt, and I feel fine. Unless you have a magic pill that will bring my memory back, I don't see why I'm still here. Where is my family? Why haven't they come to visit me? The only person who has come was that Mr. Gold person. Do I even have a family?"

The doctor froze at her questions and became extremely uncomfortable when she mentioned Mr. Gold. She filed that away as another truth. No matter what world he was in, this man made other men cower in fear.

The doctor thought for a moment before answering, "Unfortunately, I don't have a pill that will restore your memory. Your next of kin has been notified; however, it is our understanding that a recent family disagreement created some…tension. And, we're holding you for observation for a few days because amnesia is almost always caused by physical trauma to the brain. We need to make sure that if anything _is_ wrong we catch it sooner, rather than later. We'll run a few tests and send you home once we know a little more."

"Where's home?" she asked.

He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "Let's cross that bridge when we get to it."

During the day, she tried to keep herself occupied. She worked on the cup; however, there was too much activity during the day to keep the work hidden. A nice girl named Ruby came to visit, probably at the request of Dr. Whale. Her hair long brown hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders. Her narrow face highlighted her eyes which resembled the blue harvest moon. She had the likeness of a beautiful animal, especially dressed in her large, furry coat. She dropped off some books and chatted for a while. Ruby refused to discuss magic, denying its existence; however, the fear behind her eyes suggested otherwise. They argued. Out of nowhere, Nurse Mildred showed up, carrying a large syringe. Ruby did nothing as Mildred pumped the drugs into her system. Some friend.

She woke up hours later, back in her hospital bed but thankfully unrestrained. It was night again, but she had no idea what time. She didn't know how long she had until the morning nurse would peek in to check on her. She opened a drawer and pulled out the jagged piece of china. Removing the little bag from its secret compartment, she worked on it with frenzy. Last night, she had been able to glue some of the biggest pieces together, but they were few in number. Most of what was left was just tiny slivers of white. She did her best to carefully piece together the fragments matching up the cracks and ridges as best she could. The activity offered little hope for recovery, but the effort alone afforded her a great comfort. Anyway, it was better than watching another midnight marathon of _Three's Company_.

She glued the last shard in place as the sun peeped over the horizon. She held the cup in her hands and focused, just as Mr. Gold had advised. Her expectations were low. She had been focusing on her little "talisman" for the last several hours with no improvement. Still, it was worth a try. She stared at it for at least a quarter of an hour, but nothing penetrated through the grey haze.

The cup was still in her hands when the nurse, whose countenance was as sunny as her strawberry blonde hair, carried in a breakfast tray. She smiled and set it down on small table attached to the hospital bed.

"Good morning, dear!" Her voice had a light sing-song quality to it.

She read the nurse's badge—a trick she had picked up to encourage familiarity. "Good morning, Linda," she answered.

The nurse fiddled with the tray and began to open the various plastic containers for her. Linda's presence was comforting in a maternal sort of way. She liked her far better than the dour and forceful Mildred.

"How are you feeling?" Linda chirped. Her eyes twinkled with merriment and kindness.

"Fine, I suppose," she sighed.

Linda tenderly pushed the girl's hair out of her face, "Poor little dear. What's the matter?"

She sniffed and stared into the cup. "It didn't work."

The nurse smiled, "What didn't work?"

She held out the cup. Nurse Linda picked it up and examined it, pursing her lips. "What's this?"

"Just a cup, apparently. It was supposed to help me remember."

The nurse's giggle filled the room like a thousand luminescent pink bubbles. "Oh, my dear! This cup won't help you regain your lost memories."

She dropped her head, "Right, because magic doesn't exist."

Linda laid a hand on her left shoulder, just over the skin that should have been scarred, and looked meaningfully into her eyes. "You _will_ get your memory back."

"How? When?" she asked despondently.

The nurse shrugged her shoulders and leaned back, "One day, everything will just…click." Linda handed the cup back.

"I doubt it." She looked at the cup and pointed, "Shouldn't you be confiscating this? I don't think Nurse Mildred would approve."

Linda waved her hands and made a face. "Oh, pooh! I'm not afraid of her. Besides, she has no power here—this is the day shift." She beamed widely, her eyebrows rising up dramatically. "I almost forgot!" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a shining piece of jewelry, letting it dangle from her index finger. "I found this on Mildred's desk. I overheard her mention that a man left this here for you a day or two ago. He said you used to wear it every day."

"What is it?" she asked as she accepted the bauble.

"I can't be certain. But it must be important, or Mildred wouldn't have kept it from you. Go ahead, put it on."

A miniature golden rose, about the size of a child's thumbnail, hung on a simple gold chain. She examined it with curiosity, running her fingers over the small golden petals. Instinctively, as if her muscles remembered the motion, she held the chain up to her collarbone and fastened the clasp behind her neck.

"Ah, see, it suits you, my dear," Nurse Linda smiled.

"It's mine? I can keep it? You're not afraid I'll try and strangle myself with it or something? " she asked doubtfully.

Linda smiled and nodded her approval, "There it is, and there it shall stay."

She sighed softly. "Thank you."

The nurse stood as if ready to go. There were other hungry patients waiting for breakfast. The girl called to the kind nurse before she passed through the door, "Do you think they'll ever let me out of here?" Her words were weighted with a surprising amount of emotion.

Linda laid a hand on the frame of the door and smiled sympathetically. "Try not to worry. You carry the power within you. Just breathe, relax, and think to yourself, 'There's no place like home.'" Without another word, the good nurse ducked out of the room.

She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Thinking how perfectly it lay against her skin, her hands stroked the little rose charm at the base of her throat. Linda was right. Worrying would help nothing. She looked at poor Mr. Gold's cup. When she was finally released, she would go to his little shop and return the cup. Even though it was broken, it probably meant more to _him_ than it ever had to her. At the very least, she owed him an apology.

She studied the little chipped cup. The porcelain warmed her hands as she recalled how her fingers brushed against his each time she offered him a hot drink on a cold morning.

Belle smiled sweetly to herself, her eyes filling with tears.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for your reviews. Got a question? Ask in a review, or message me directly. :-)


	4. Pretense

_Dreams are real. Dreams are real. Dreams are real._

With an open heart, she believed all that her soul had spoken to her in the dark of night. As the memories flooded her mind, Belle's list of truth grew exponentially. Magic was real and so were monsters. However, Belle knew that neither she nor Rumplestiltskin were evil beasts. Rather, Belle believed she loved a man whose soul had, for a very long time, been infected with an impenetrable darkness.

But, True Love shatters darkness. It was her favorite truth. Slowly, love had begun to illuminate Rumplestiltskin's heart, dispelling the gloom of the Dark One. A delicate blush graced her cheeks as she remembered their first kiss, her contribution to the miraculous transformation True Love had wrought. In that kiss, a thousand sparks had showered down upon them, welding their souls together with a love that was as ever-satisfying as it was utterly unquenchable. Her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink as she considered the part she hoped to play in the future. The _near_ future.

Belle was growing impatient to leave the hospital. She knew now as well as Dr. Whale that her memory loss had been the result of a curse, not brain trauma. The medical tests he insisted on giving her were simply demonstrative. Dr. Whale wanted to convince her that she was in a normal hospital in an ordinary town. He was doing the same thing to Greg, the man who had been driving the car the night of the accident. Greg's injuries had been more serious—he had nearly died—so his extended hospital stay went unquestioned. Greg probably thought Dr. Whale was merely doing his due diligence; however, Belle knew the staff wanted to make sure Storybrooke's best kept secrets stayed hidden. Belle guessed neither she nor Greg would be released until they convinced Dr. Whale that magic was nothing more than black silk top hats and cheap card tricks.

Of course, Belle briefly considered telling Dr. Whale that her memory had returned. However, there were many reasons to keep her recovery to herself. As much as she loved Rumple, she had to admit that he was deeply intertwined with the worst drama in both the Enchanted Forest and Storybrooke. Like the shadow of Peter Pan, conflict had a mind of its own and followed dear Rumple everywhere. Because of her association with Storybrooke's infamous Mr. Gold, she was pulled into the line of fire—literally.

However, Hook had stepped in and excused Belle from the field. Oh, she was still in the game, but Fate had offered her a seat on the bench. Without her memories, she had no knowledge which could be used against Rumple. Belle thought it highly unlikely that another attempt would be made on her life. If anyone so much as touched her, even now, they risked the swift and untempered wrath of the Dark One. But, as long as she _lived_, Rumple's enemies could safely watch him suffer through the agony of unrequited love.

Belle quickly determined that Rumple would be the first person to learn the truth about her recovered memory. Her decision had nothing to do with personal safety, alliances, or wicked schemes. She _wanted _Rumple to know first. She had seen the despair in his eyes that night on the road. She didn't think she could stand it if he heard the truth from any lips other than hers. In order for that to happen, Belle would have to convince _everyone_ that the effects of the curse were permanent.

For the most part, it was easier than she expected. She rarely had to play the liar. The folly of assumption was her closest ally. Everyone believed Belle's memories were gone for good. Tom Clark— Sneezy, as he was known to the dwarves—had never recovered and neither would she. As long as Belle kept her own counsel, no one thought any different.

Some were not so easily fooled or convinced. Nurse Linda's eyes sparkled with a particularly knowing glint as if she were a fellow conspirator in on the secret. However, she was so cheerful Belle did not mark her as a threat. Greg was another issue altogether. He repeatedly tried to convince her that magic was real and they had witnessed it in action. He was obsessed and continuously came into her room to ply her with questions about Storybrooke and the night of the accident. Belle did her best to deflect his investigation. Whenever she could, she played the amnesia card. When he didn't back off, Belle felt compelled to bring his invasive visits to the attention of Nurse Mildred.

Belle murmured, "Poor guy, he just goes on and on about magic as if it were real. I feel badly for him."

Mildred's beady eyes had narrowed and she had pressed her lips together. "Don't worry, dear. I'll see that he doesn't bother you anymore."

After that, Greg stopped visiting her room. Belle felt terrible about setting the officiously stern nurse against poor Greg. However, it was as necessary as it was unfortunate. She didn't know how much longer she could avert his never-ending questions.

When Dr. Whale asked, she eagerly admitted to wanting to be released. She hoped that returning to a familiar environment might spark some shred of her memory. Dr. Whale nodded but did not offer her any false hope. Despite his reluctance to discharge her, she finally convinced him by suggesting he release her under the care of a trusted friend: Ruby.

Later that afternoon, she dozed in her hospital bed as she waited for Dr. Whale to sign the final discharge papers. The sharp sound of high heels clacking on the tiles just outside her door brought her back to the waking world. Belle was expecting Ruby. When Regina stepped into the room, Belle had to remove all signs of recognition from her countenance. She hoped Regina would believe as easily as the others had.

Belle quickly managed a weak, "Who are you?"

Regina did not answer her question. Instead she commented, "So it is true. You really don't remember anything."

In the same turn, Belle refused to answer. She asked, "Are we friends?"

"We spent some time together," Regina evasively admitted. She continued, "But I'm here because I think you can help me find something that belongs to Rumplestiltskin."

"Who?" Belle asked as if she had not heard the name. Regina must be desperate if she was trying to pump someone with amnesia for information.

"Mr. Gold," Regina clarified.

"I, uh, I don't know him," Belle lied pitifully.

The next thing Belle knew, Linda was calling her name.

"Ms. French? Belle?"

She furrowed her brow and rubbed her eyes. "Hmm?"

"Sorry to wake you, but I thought you'd want to know the papers are all signed and ready. Ruby is on her way to pick you up and will meet you in the lobby. You're on your way home."

Linda handed Belle a canvas tote bag. Inside were a pair of black jeans, a cream and navy-blue striped shirt, and a thick, grey tweed blazer from her closet at home. Belle dressed quickly and wondered who had sent the clothes. Poor Rumple surrounded the house with impossibly strong enchantments. Only a powerful magician could break through those barriers.

She picked up her purse and reached for her phone to see if she had any missed calls. Rumple had not called or texted since his last visit. There were no new messages. Of course, there wouldn't be. At their last meeting she had not given any sign that she would appreciate continued contact. Belle sighed with disappointment as she debated calling him. She was desperate to hear his voice. Had he found Baelfire? In the end, she decided against the call. Rumple was intuitive enough to deduce the state of her condition, and her news was best shared in person.

Belle rifled through the remaining contents of her purse. Something was missing.

"No, no, no, no!" she cried aloud. "It's not here!"

Of all the things she had remembered, how could she have forgotten about the index card Rumple had given her? The night of the accident he had slipped the card into her hands as if he were giving her the keys to the gates of Heaven.

She recognized the call numbers: 915.63. "Planning a trip to Asia? Is that where Bae is?"

Rumple shook his head, "No, he's in Manhattan." He pointed to the card, "This is something I want you to have. Something I want you to keep for me."

"What is it?" she asked, turning the card over in her hand.

She expected him to evade the question, as he almost always did. But he was adding honesty and openness to his character in greater doses every day. He cupped her cheek in his hand and placed his forehead against hers, sighing deeply.

He whispered softly, "It's a map—one that will guide you to a dagger."

"A dagger? I don't understand," she protested.

He hesitatingly explained, "When I became the Dark One, my name was inscribed on that blade. It is the source of my power. Whoever owns it controls me. Whoever kills me with it becomes the Dark One."

He took her hands in his, caressing the backs of her knuckles with his thumbs. "I've kept it hidden for three hundred years."

Belle snapped her purse shut and bolted for the door. She should have known something was wrong when Regina had come into her hospital room. Regina had been looking for an object that belonged to Rumple and Belle had inadvertently told her how to find it. Belle did not wait in the lobby for Ruby. She had to get to the library.

* * *

**A/N: **What's going to happen? Read on!


	5. Belle, in the Library

When the heel of Belle's left shoe broke off, she paused just long enough to kick off both shoes, flinging them into the alley, before she continued her sprint towards the library. Although it was only a few blocks away, Belle was breathing heavily by the time she reached the library door. The main entrance's deadbolt was undisturbed. She took a deep breath, silently unlocked the door, and stepped into the dark library. As she locked the door behind her, she wished on every star she could name that she was not too late.

Belle did not turn on the lights. There was just enough light from the late afternoon sun, seeping through the old, dusty blinds, to light her way. As she picked her way through the labyrinth of shelves, Belle regretted that she had not destroyed the card. When not suffering from amnesia, her memory was excellent. She could have easily memorized one set of call numbers. Within a few moments, she was standing in front of the small 900s shelf in the non-fiction section. She gasped.

_It's gone, _Belle thought to herself with a cry of despair.

Dark premonitions began to fill her mind until something white tucked away in the shadows caught her attention. Belle pulled the thin cream-colored paper out and was about to examine it closely when the front door rattled loudly. A voice murmured just outside the door which she could not understand. A strange whoosh preceded the soft click of the deadbolt turning back and the creak of the door opening. Someone was using magic to break into the library. Whoever it was, they were not here to check out a copy of _Oliver Twist_.

Belle quickly concealed herself in the dark corner where she had shelved all the musty Westerns. It was as far away from the 900s as she could get without being seen. Unfortunately, the prowler would also remain hidden from view. To her surprise, she heard not one but three sets of footsteps echoing through the stacks. Two pairs of high heels clicked on the tiles followed by the confident thud of heavy leather boots: two women and one man.

As the trespassers slowly picked their way through the unfamiliar layout of the public library, they discussed the dagger's power over Rumplestiltskin. She recognized Regina's voice and Hook's, but the third voice was new to her. As Belle listened to their conversation, she learned the third belonged to Regina's mother, Cora.

"No," Regina protested. "It should be here."

They had found the empty place on the shelf. Belle was glad she ditched her shoes and sprinted to the library. Her feet were raw from the rough sidewalk, peppered with bits of gravel. However, her injuries were negligible compared to what could have happened had Rumple's dagger fallen into the wrong hands. If what she held was in fact the map, then she had removed it with mere seconds to spare.

"Well, it's not, is it? Can we go now?" Hook replied sardonically.

"Wait," Cora cautioned.

Belle held her breath. She tried not to make a sound as she heard Cora moving books around on the shelf.

"No," Cora muttered with resignation. "It's not here."

"Maybe it's at Gold's house," Regina said.

"Looks like the librarian was doing some research," Hook commented.

Regina rebuked Hook sharply. "Well, whatever she's discovered is gone. You stole her memories."

Hook, not one to shy away from confrontation, retorted, "Was that all I took? Such a pity. In the future, I shall try to be more…_thorough_." Belle shuddered as she imagined the lascivious look in his eye.

Cora chastised Hook as she would a young child, "Whatever your future holds, you can be certain it does not include killing Rumplestiltskin. We need the dagger in order to kill him, and now we may never find it."

"Mother," Regina interrupted. "What about the memory spell?"

"Rumplestiltskin has already attempted it. He charmed some trifle—a broken teacup or something. It failed, or didn't you hear?"

Regina explained, "Well, that was his mistake. He chose the wrong talisman."

"What could we charm, if not the shattered cup?" Cora asked with some urgency.

Regina sighed, "Oh, I don't know. Wait…maybe. There _was_ a necklace…"

Belle touched the golden charm hanging around her neck. Her mother had given it to her shortly before she had passed away. She had worn it nearly every day since. Had Rumple realized his mistake and charmed the gold necklace?

"Can you find it?" Cora asked. "If we can bring her memories back, then we can find the dagger."

"And I can skin my crocodile at last," Hook growled.

Belle remained hidden in the shadows until she heard the front door shut and locked again, their hushed voices fading into silence. She debated taking off the necklace but was afraid doing so might result in another bout of amnesia. Instead, she tucked the gold chain underneath her shirt for safekeeping. She hoped Rumple would return before anyone discovered her secret.

Belle held the map in her hands and vowed to destroy it as soon as possible. As far as she was concerned, Regina was never going to get her hands on that dagger. Ignoring the multiple texts and missed calls from Ruby, Belle used the blue glow from the screen of her phone to examine the map. It was nothing more than a few scribbles on the page. Had she not known what she was looking at, she would have crumpled the paper and tossed it in the trash.

Belle jumped at the sound of the front door rattling violently. Someone was pulling on the handle, trying to get in. A frantic voice cried out, "Belle!? Belle!? Where are you?"

It was Ruby. Belle stepped out from her hiding place and headed to the front door. _Of course_, Belle remembered, Ruby was supposed to pick her up from the hospital. Belle took a deep breath and tried to organize her thoughts into two categories: what she was supposed to know and what she actually remembered.

"Hello?" she said. "Is someone there?"

Through the door, she heard Ruby exclaim, "Belle? Oh, thank God! It's Ruby!"

Belle unlocked and opened the door, letting Ruby in. She was glad to see the street was empty. There were no signs of Regina, Cora, or Hook. Ruby scanned the shadows, her keen eyes piercing through the darkness. Dusk had settled over Storybrooke, and Belle finally turned on the lights. Ruby blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent light.

"What are you doing here?" Ruby asked, her words weighted with panic.

Belle stuttered and looked at the floor. "I, I found a key in my purse. It said "Library." Belle held it up so Ruby could see. "I just thought if I went someplace where I spent a lot of time-maybe my memory would come back."

At this, Ruby softened considerably. She wrapped an arm around Belle's shoulder. "Oh, well, I would have been glad to take you here. You just left the hospital, and nobody could find you."

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't answer your phone…"

"It was on silent," Belle explained truthfully. Thank goodness it had been, or her hiding place would have been compromised.

"We were worried."

Belle paused. "We?"

"Snow—" Ruby stopped and corrected herself, "Mary Margaret and me—your friends. We didn't know what had happened to you."

Belle was not especially close with Mary Margaret. Belle had nothing against her, but she was more Ruby's friend. No matter what she tried, Mary Margaret always seemed to hold her at arm's length. In recent weeks, it had begun to bother her more. One evening, Rumple had found her curled on the sofa, book in hand, wiping away her tears.

He had knelt down, which was not easy for him considering his bad leg, resting his chin on the edge of the cushion, just inches from her face. "Hey, what's all this?" He rubbed a finger against her cheek, collecting her tears.

Belle explained that Mary Margaret often went to The Rabbit Hole for drinks with Ruby. Belle was never invited. Rumple gathered her into his arms and held her.

"Oh sweetheart, don't worry about all that." He sighed and continued, "I have a long history with Mary Margaret and her family. It probably has more to do with me than it does with you." He hadn't needed to go into further detail. Belle understood that with him _history_ was never good.

So, why was Mary Margaret so concerned all of a sudden? Despite a desperate urge to satisfy her curiosity, Belle had to defer her question for later and play the role of the amnesia patient. How could she legitimately question the nature of a friendship she was not even supposed to remember?

Instead, Belle apologized one final time. "Look, I'm really sorry. I just got a little confused. How did you find me?"

Ruby sniffed hard and averted her eyes. Belle knew her friend had an acute sense of smell. As a child of the moon, Ruby's sharpened senses represented a fraction of her unique abilities.

Ruby answered, "Someone saw you running this way." She held up Belle's broken and discarded shoes, "And I found these not too far from here. Why _were_ you running?"

It was Belle's turn to give an evasive answer. "I was upset. I thought I could find the library on my own. But I didn't know where to go. I guess I just got scared and lost control. Does that sound stupid?"

Ruby shook her head, "Not at all. I've definitely been there before. But at least until you get your bearings, maybe you shouldn't go off exploring by yourself. You never know what kind of trouble you could get into—even in Storybrooke. Come on, I'll take you to Granny's." Ruby motioned for Belle to follow her to the door.

"Granny's?" Belle had to remind herself to ask about everything. Even a simple head nod would give her memories away.

"My grandmother owns a small bed and breakfast in town—a diner too—we're going to give you a room until you…figure things out."

"Don't I have a home?" Belle asked as they walked toward the hospital.

"Um, yeah." Pausing under the yellow glow of a streetlight, Ruby wrung her hands with indecision. "You do. With Mr. Gold."

"Oh." Belle responded flatly. "That might be a little awkward."

Ruby sighed and smiled widely. "That's what I thought. So, you can totally stay with us as long as you need to."

"I don't suppose he's home is he?" Belle asked with concern. Regina and Cora were probably there already. When Belle saw Ruby's questioning gaze she clarified, "I might want to get some of my things."

"Oh. Actually, he isn't. He's out of town. Did you want to stop there? Do you have a key?"

Belle held up her key ring, "Maybe? I don't know. I do have _keys_, but I don't know to what. And I don't know that I'm up to it tonight. I don't think it's a good idea." It was true, but not for the reasons Ruby assumed. She knew Rumple would never hide the dagger in his home. It was too obvious. If Regina was headed toward Gold's house, her best plan was to steer clear of it.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Ruby agreed.

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No, nobody knows really. He went out of state to look for his son."

"His son?" Belle asked.

Ruby's eyes went wide for just a moment as if she had shared something she wasn't sure she was at liberty to discuss. Then she calmed down and said, "I think you knew about all of that—before. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I told you about it now. He's been looking for his son for a long time."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and he just found him. I mean he knew he was in New York, but he actually _found_ him today."

Belle's heart nearly exploded for joy within her chest. It was difficult to keep her emotions in check. Nonchalance came with a heavy cost.

"That sounds like good news," Belle stated as calmly as she could.

"You'd think so, right? Belle, one thing you'll learn about Storybrooke: Everything is _complicated_."

* * *

**A/N: **I'd love to know what you think so far. Please review! :-)


	6. Little White Box, Little White Flame

Belle breathed deep of the cool morning air as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. Although the inn was close to the diner, the fresh air always lifted her spirits, which were dismally low. If there was any news from Manhattan, Belle was ignorant of it. Aside from the initial confession that Rumple had found Baelfire, she had been unable to glean further information from Ruby. Although eager to expound on every aspect of Belle's life in Storybrooke, including her penchant for impossibly high heels and nineteenth century literature, Ruby was surprisingly silent on the subject of Rumplestiltskin. Belle was certain the whole town was talking about Rumple's reunion with his son, just not when she was in the room.

As she walked down the street, she fidgeted with her cell phone, debating whether she should just call him. She was impatient for his return. Her heart was a stone inside her chest. Despite the recovery of her memory, she did not feel at home in Storybrooke. The town suited her like an ill-fitting wool sweater.

From the corner of her eye, she spied the tall, brooding form of Captain Hook. He stood, dressed in his long black coat with silver buttons, across the road on the corner of the street. When he saw that she noticed him, he smirked and spread his hands out, dipping in a low bow. The motion made him wince with pain. As he rose, he held a hand over one side of his chest, where his broken ribs were still mending. Pushing aside the urge to cross the street and slap him in the face, she waved awkwardly at him, as if she were trying to figure out who he was. This only made him grin all the more. He puckered his lips in a proffered kiss before sauntering down the street in the opposite direction. If she'd had a cane, she might have cracked a few of his ribs herself.

Somewhat unnerved, Belle walked into Granny's and took her usual seat at the counter. Ruby smiled, handing her a bowl of sliced fruit and a blueberry muffin. Belle thanked her and ate slowly, thinking of quiet morning of work ahead. Yesterday, Ruby had taken her to the library and attempted to explain what Belle did as Storybrooke's librarian. The experience was painful. When Ruby knocked over a case of carefully organized reference materials, Belle picked up a random ledger book and pretended to discover an elaborate set of notes in her own handwriting.

"Was I thinking about hiring a second librarian? These instructions are so detailed," she mumbled as she pretended to scan the pages.

Ruby shoved her hands in her pockets and said, "Um, you know. I don't really know."

Belle clapped the book shut and smiled. "Now you know how I feel."

With minimal effort, she persuaded Ruby to let her work in the library a few hours a day. "It would be like therapy, or something," Belle urged. This was true. Belle cherished the thought of being left to herself even for a few hours, without having to act the part of the amnesia patient. Plus, it would help fill the long hours of the lonely day.

As she stabbed a piece of cantaloupe with her fork, she noticed Mary Margaret and David enter the diner. They seated themselves in a secluded corner booth at the back of the diner. Huddling together over coffee, they spoke in hushed voices. Belle could only catch snatches of their conversation. _Late last night._ _Unexpected. _She heard names too. _Henry. Emma. Gold._

He was back. Belle opened her large brown leather purse. Inside, tucked among her lipstick and hairbrush, as always, was a small, white box wrapped with a blue satin bow.

Belle wiped her mouth and called to Ruby, "I'm going to go. See you tonight, ok?"

Ruby nodded and smiled as she carried a plate of pancakes to another customer's table. Without another word, Belle casually left some money on the counter, scooted off the stool, and calmly headed for the door. As soon as she was out of sight of Granny's Diner, she sprinted down the street. She was glad she had traded her stilettos for a more sensible, yet still fashion-forward, pair of flats. The three blocks to the pawn shop flew by in a blur as she hurried to the glass door. The shade was drawn, which meant the store was closed. However, she knew Rumple often rose early, tinkering in his office at the back of the shop until it was time to open for the day. With bated breath, she rapped on the door softly. Inside, she could hear voices, male voices. Her spirits sank. They were arguing.

"_You_ went back on our deal."

"I'm _sorry_," hissed the other voice. It was Rumple. Belle could hear the grief behind his venomous tone. "How _many_ times do I have to say it before you'll believe me?" Belle touched the pane of glass which separated them.

"I don't know! But you can't just expect to pick up like I'm 14 again, alright? As far as I'm concerned, I'm an orphan—a lost boy. I don't _have_ a father."

Belle could hear no more. She was about to knock on the door again when it was flung open, nearly knocking her over. A young man, not much older than Belle herself, burst through the doorway sighing angrily through his nose. He slammed the door shut and cursed under his breath. Despite what she had overheard, Belle had to restrain her smile. The young man with dark, mischievous features, and devious brown eyes resembled his father, not only in form, but also in spirit. So, this was Baelfire.

"The shop's closed," he grunted.

Belle bit her lip. "I need to speak with Mr. Gold," she managed.

"Then come back when we're open."

"It's important."

Baelfire held open his arms, then gestured to the door, projecting his anger onto Belle. "Then by all means, go right on in. I really couldn't care less." He called a little louder for the benefit of his father, "I'm outta here!" Bae flicked up the collar of his jacket and shoved his hands into his pockets. He stomped off in the direction of the diner.

Belle watched him leave with concern. Something was wrong. Why had Baelfire come back to Storybrooke if not to reconnect with his father? Poor Rumple, her heart ached for him. Had he waited 300 years to find his son only to be rejected? She could only imagine the pain he suffered. She placed her hand on the latch and slowly opened the door.

The bell over the entrance jingled as she quietly pulled the door shut behind her. Belle closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He was in his office, but she could hear his quick-slow step approaching.

From the back of the shop, he called out with resignation. "Bae, don't—" he stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of Belle. He stood, unmoving in the silence, his face carved in heartbreak.

"Hello," she said shyly.

"Hello," he replied. His voice was quiet and his answer short. She had caught him off guard in a vulnerable moment. "I heard you had left the hospital," he commented matter-of-factly.

"Yes, I've been staying at the inn. Trying to figure things out."

"How's that going?" he asked sincerely. His eyebrows were up and pushed close together. His suffering and concern were genuine.

"I left behind some pretty thorough notes at the library. We're set to open next week."

"That's wonderful," he said in a breathless fashion. His disappointment went unchecked.

"Yes. Right on schedule," she nodded. She took a tentative step forward. Her right hand gripped the strap of her bag like a vise. She bit her lip and looked down. "I wanted to come and apologize for…last time."

He held up a hand and shook his head. "No, no, no, no. Don't—don't worry about that. It was _my_ fault."

"No. I'm sorry. I wasn't myself. I wanted to come by as soon as Dr. Whale discharged me, but you were gone."

"I went out of town for a bit."

"I heard," she said with a sad smile. "How was your trip?"

He furrowed his brow, as if unsure how to answer. He threw up his hands, blew out a heavy breath, and offered, "Productive."

Belle cast her eyes down at the floor. Standing in front of her was a man who for three centuries had kept no counsel save his own. It was no wonder his persona was as stiff as one of his heavily starched shirts. He was in desperate need of the listening ear and available shoulder which she was willing to supply. But, first, she would give him her heart. When her head rested against his chest, his arms wrapped about her shoulders, his hands gently stroking her back, and then she would hear his tale from beginning to end. The truth would flow out of him like cool water from a glass pitcher.

He cleared his throat, as if unsure of how to fill the empty silence. He looked at her as one looks at a deer encountered in the wild: wanting to draw close, but afraid any sudden movement might make her bound away, out of reach forever. She offered a polite smile, hoping to ease his apprehension.

He returned it lamely but then quickly turned towards the back of the shop. "Excuse me, just for a moment" he barely choked out before retreating into his office.

Belle removed her purse, then her coat, laying both down on one of the display cases. She removed the little white box from her purse and cradled it gently with both hands. Without permission, she followed him to the back room, her footsteps as silent as the night. He was facing away from the door, toward the cluttered shelves, both palms pressed down against the wooden countertop.

He sniffed loudly and said, "If you don't mind, this is my office. Customers aren't allowed."

She softened at the lame attempt to preserve his pride. "I've brought you something," she said.

His head inclined in her direction. She walked over to his side and set the small white box down on the counter beside his left hand. He tentatively pulled the ribbon loose and opened the box. Inside, cradled in tissue paper was the teacup she had shattered.

"You fixed it?"

Belle bit her lip and said, "It seemed so important to you. I did my best to glue it back together. I'm sorry, but uh, it's chipped. You can hardly see it."

"It's just a cup," he replied sadly, quoting his words from so long ago.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear. "No, _Rumplestiltskin_, it's not."

His name on her lips was a powerful enchantment. Spellbound, he turned towards her. Though few in number, tears trailed down his cheeks. His soul was reforged in front of her very eyes.

"Yes, it is," he answered with a whispered breath. His dark brown eyes were fixed on her. Hope was beginning to erase the taut grimace of his breaking heart. "In comparison to what I had, it's _nothing_."

"_Have_," she corrected gently.

As if drawn by a magnetic force, she reached for him. She sighed softly as she felt each button, fold, crease, and pocket of his well-tailored suit press against her body. She had found home. Home in his arms. Home in his embrace. His lips pulled at hers, demanding every ounce of love she possessed—past, present, and future—in this single moment until she was faint for breath. She surrendered to him all which she held in her heart and found the supply never diminished. He leaned into her, and the weight of his frame pressed against hers.

"They told me you remembered nothing," he wept, ferverently kissing her cheeks and the skin of her neck just below her ear.

"I wanted you to know first," she whispered between soft contented sighs. "I came as soon as I heard you were back."

Suddenly, he pulled back and held her at arm's length. His eyebrows arched quizzically. "Wait. How is it possible?" He picked up the poorly reassembled cup and said, "This can be mended. The charm cannot."

Belle crinkled her brow. "You don't know?" She released him and pulled her little golden chain out from underneath her burgundy cashmere sweater. The rose pendant reflected what little light filtered through to the back room. "My necklace..."

He ran a finger over the miniature rose where it lay against her chest. "I remember this. You wore it every day at the castle."

Belle nodded, "My mother gave it to me."

A knowing glimmer passed across his face. He pointed at the necklace, "It's your talisman."

"So, you did enchant it."

He shook his head, "I left it at the hospital, nothing else."

"If you didn't, who did?"

"A good witch," he answered as he buried his face in her hair. "To whom I am eternally grateful."

Belle remembered Linda's twinkling eyes and perceptive smile. "A very good witch."

Rumple gathered Belle's hands in his and held them against his chest. He closed his eyes and murmured, "Belle, something's happened." He paused before confessing, "I've lost my power."

Belle furrowed her brow. Her fingers traced the ridge of his brow before kissing it tenderly. She took him in her arms. He breathed deeply and rested his head against her shoulder. Magic had been part of Rumplestiltskin's life for nearly 300 years. Losing it was like losing an appendage.

"I had to remove Bae's shawl when I passed through airport security. It was only a moment, but it was enough to put me back under the Dark Curse."

"I don't understand. Your memory—"

Rumple cupped Belle's face with both hands, his eager eyes drinking in the image of her features. "For me, it was never about forgetting." He dropped his hands down to rest upon her shoulders. "When the Dark Curse was cast, I kept my memories. I lost the ability to use magic."

She laid her head on his chest, mostly to hide her ambivalence. For as long as she had known him, his magic had been fueled by darkness. More than anything, she wanted to see him freed from its corrupting influence. Even so, she thought of Hook on the street corner, watching her, and of Cora and Regina's search for the dagger. Magic exacted a price, not only in its coming, but also in its departure.

"It's okay," she muttered without conviction.

He sighed heavily and said, "Perhaps. Perhaps not. My list of enemies is long. Their attacks are kept at bay only because they believe I cannot be defeated. And, now, that's just another illusion. "

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I've tried."

"Try again," she urged, kissing his lips quickly.

He flicked his wrist, igniting a small white fire with a fuchsia flame at its center appeared in the palm of his right hand. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Not so sure," he mumbled.

"It's different," Belle spoke in awe. Usually, the flames raged with an orange fury. However, this fire flickered calmly, emitting steady warmth.

"Yes," he agreed. "Quite." His left arm still wrapped around Belle, he tested the flame he held in his right. Belle had to shield her eyes from the brilliancy of its light and turn away from the radiating waves of heat. With a grunt, Rumple snapped his hand shut, extinguishing the blaze. "Powerful. More than I've ever felt before."

"Almost…familiar, isn't it?" Belle asked. Where had she encountered such a flame before? Suddenly, it came to her. She tenderly placed one of her hands on his cheek and spoke softly, "True Love's Kiss."

He turned his face and kissed the center of her palm, igniting within the very core of her being the same steady white-hot flame he held in his hands just moments earlier. This magic was born of love, not darkness, and with its power, no evil could triumph.

The front door opened, signaled by the piercing chime of the bell. Rumple did not break away, but continued to gaze into Belle's cornflower blue eyes. Heavy, but determined, footsteps hurriedly approached the drape which separated the shop from the back office.

"Hey, Pop, look I'm sorry," Bae called as he made his way through the store. "I brought you a coffee," he continued as he pushed aside the heavy golden curtain.

He stopped and stared wide-eyed at the two of them, pressed close together, alone in their own world. With a small, embarrassed cough, he set the coffee down on the counter and added, "To share."

Bae ran a hand through his thick dark curls and took a couple of steps back. "Ok, well, it looks like you've got things covered. I'm, uh, gonna…take off for a bit." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned to leave.

A smile played at the corner of Belle's eyes. She tilted her head toward Bae. Rumple nodded and called out to his son.

"I love you, Bae."

Bae stopped, placed a hand on the doorframe, and turned to cast a sideways glance at his father. "I know, Papa," he replied with solemn honesty. Before disappearing behind the drape, he added, "I love you too."

Rumplestiltskin wrapped an arm around Belle's waist. He smiled, truly smiled, for the first time since she had known him. Like the sun coming out from behind storm clouds, it was glorious. She wiped the fresh tears from his cheeks and kissed the glistening trails they left behind. "What's wrong?"

"Oh sweetheart, nothing. Nothing can be ever, ever be wrong." Glancing at the door where his son had stood and then back at her crystalline blue eyes, he embraced her, whispering, "I have you."

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you much for reading "Shattered." I hope you enjoyed it! For all my readers who have left reviews and comments, thank you so, so much! Your feedback means a lot to me. If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out some of my other OUAT fanfiction, including _True Magic. _

Of course, I have to say thank you to the creative minds behind ABC's _Once Upon a Time. _Without your imagination and effort, this story would not exist. Thank you for letting me borrow your characters and your world, if only for a brief while.

Love and blessings,

Brooke Summerlin-A Petal on the Rose

p.s. Oncers! I love to talk OUAT with other fans. Feel free to follow me on Twitter ( BrookeSummerlin).


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